Fates Beyond Meaning
by Nolan Oken
Summary: Fates are sometimes set in stone. But throw a rock into a pond, ripples occur. Five People will see what this world of Thedas is coming too. Little do they know, they are the heroes the world needs but does not want. Will they find a way to work together? Will they find an end to this road? AU: Inquisition All four races. Rated M for Language and Possible Future Adultery.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

Collision Course

* * *

The day was turning into dusk as the clan settled for the night, the aravels halting to a stop as the halla were commanded to cease. The elves started to unpack themselves, mending the broken spools and wheels of the land ships as some of others herded the halla, beginning construction on temporarily pen for the herd. The bright red sails were brought down from their raised position, lower than that of the rocky terrain, so that the clan may not be easily as spotted.

The Lavellan clan settled near the region of the Frostbacks, hoping to hear of the news of the human conclave. The conclave was called by the shemlen as the Dalish called them, to end the war between the Mages and the Templar Order. The Templars had come to close to attacking the clan itself, several of its people vanishing into the night as a warning for when they crept too close to an encampment. The snowy forest held no real nourishment for the halla, but for the last, they could burden the cold to know what comes from the Conclave, while they were several miles from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, where it was taking place, they would hear news from wondering travelers.

The Keeper was interested in the matters that were taking place. If peace was made, if the Templars won, or if the Mages won, the Dalish and all their clans would be caught in the middle of it all. The winds of change had arrived.

Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan. That was her name, but this is not her story. Nor will it ever be hers. For she set the scales. Now the world must weigh them.

"Da'len?" the keeper asked her First, standing next to her, watching their fellow Dalish as they worked.

"Yes Keeper?" the young one said.

"I require your brother's assistance, please fetch him for me." The Keeper kept her glare towards the mountains, her gaze never leaving the horizon as the First spoke.

"My brother? Can I not assist you Keeper?"

"You have done enough for today, when you've found your brother, help Ioril, a halla needs mending."

"Yes Keeper."

"Senia?"

"Yes Keeper?"

"Don't get distracted."

The First only nodded, wrapping the band of her staff around her as she headed off into the woods. Senia Lavellan was the First of the clan. She and her brother were both given to the clan during the last Dalish gathering. Her auburn hair shared the same virtues as her brother, her vallaslin, representing Sylaise, the elvish god of arts and giver of fire, was covered by the majority of it. Her green eyes reflecting the settling sun's light. The brother Arthon shared a majority of these traits, except for the blood writing. They shared an angular face, but with soft features for the both of them. They could almost be mistaken as twins, if they were the same height and not merely two years apart from each other. However, their fate would show that they more like each other, more than what they would know.

Does the Keeper really think I cannot handle retrieving my own brother? She thought to herself while walking through the woods, looking for her brother. She was no hunter. But she knew her brother's patterns. He was predictable in a non-offensive manner. He kept close to the aravels while hunting whatever he could get his hands on, be it fennecs or rams. Ooh, pretty. She knelt down to see a wild flower, blooming late into the season of winter as spring was finally approaching the Frostbacks. Seconds later, an arrow flew by pinning the flower on a nearby tree. She flew backwards on her back, narrowly dodging the arrow. She looked around and saw her brother in the distance.

"You idiot! You nearly killed me."

"Anything to keep your eyes open little one!" Arthon shouted out, his think hood shadowing his face in the dark as the sun was setting closer and closer.

"Some hunter you are!" The downright nerve of him. Nearly pierced my nose. "The Keeper needs you back at camp!" she said, dusting herself from the snow, propping herself up.

"The Keeper needs this, the Keeper needs that. I really wish she would get it through mind that I don't want to be here. I wish weren't traded off together," Arthon shouted back.

"You know you don't mean that," she said softly.

"Well let's see what she wants with me this time, probably wants me to clean the hallas again," he began heading back to the camp, she soon followed back, amazed he went the first time she said so this time.

* * *

"What?"

"You heard me, da'len."

"You want me to spy on the Shem?"

"I want you to listen, to hear. I need eyes and ears to know what happens in the Conclave," the Keeper said, the light wisp slowly floating around the inside of the aravel. The aravels were intricate and the insides were delicately crafted by Dalish hands, telling the stories of where they sailed.

"You. Want. Me. To. Spy."

"Yes."

"Why do we care? Why do you care? Why me?" He threw his hands in the air, anger and curiosity floated around Arthon's head. The Dalish kept to themselves, and only wished to be left alone. The Keeper to try and change the ways of things, and that irritated Arthon. He may have found the clan bothersome to his own life, but he was still Dalish. He was not exactly a fan of their "politics" and the alienages especially.

"Why? Because we should all care. Whoever we are now, could lie with what happens. The humans rule this continent, we do not. We rely on them having peace. I care for my people. For this clan. For you and your sister." The Keeper pinched the bridge of her nose grasping the blood writing embedded on her skin, feeling as though it was about to rip off. "As for why you…because you have spent time among their people…I do recall you leaving for a year."

"It was only a year."

"Exactly, and your sister was ill. But where were you?" the Keeper asked.

The hunter sat silent, looking down as he was unquestionably matched. "I'll do it. But on one condition." The Keeper looked at him, plainly looked on waiting for his terms. "Senia, she comes with me. Since you want to bring up the past. She comes with me."

"Ok."

"Okay?"

"Yes."

Really? He thought.

"You seem confused da'len," the Keeper said, standing up and starting to leave the aravel.

"I…did not expect you to agree, is all."

"She needs to see more, then the clan. If she is to take my place as Keeper one day, she needs to know what is out there," she said.

"I'll do it," Senia said, her head popping through the curtains of the aravel, her brother's head spinning towards her with a confused look on his face.

The Keeper sighed softly. "Of course you would…you're not doing this for me da'len, you're doing this for the clan. I would not risk my own."

"Oh don't worry Keeper, I'll make sure he doesn't kill anyone 'special.' By the Creators, this will be so much fun!" the Dalish mage was alit with glee, running off towards the twin's aravel to begin packing.

The other two, left a bit estranged, looked back at each other. "She knows she'll have to actually talk to people yes? She need to fit her cover," Arthon said.

"Cover?" the Keeper asked.

"It's easy to hide an elf among a bunch of mercenaries, but one like her, she'll need to stick with the mages," he said standing up and heading out of the aravel.

"What do you think she'll be doing?" she asked. The hunter turned around towards the Keeper, flicking his fingers and showing his palm.

"Keeping her eyes," closing his hand and opening it again.

"Open."

* * *

"So I have to ask,"

"Yes? what?"

"Where are you from?"

"Rivain."

"That's a long way from Ferelden."

"I've been in Orlais and the Free Marches for longer periods than that I'm afraid. Ferelden smells of wet dog, only a short trip from where we got the posting, outside of Val Chevin" the tall woman replied. "You?"

"Well..."

"Senia!" Get over here!" Senia looked back down the towering hall, seeing her brother round the corner, waving along, looking out for any other mercenary guards that would walk by.

"Who's he?" the tall woman asked.

Senia sighed deeply. "…that would be my brother." She looked at him with a bored glare.

"Your brother? One of the nervous types I see."

"Not usually, he's…" Without even noticing, Arthon raced forward and grabbed Senia by the arms and started rambling.

"What did I tell you?! Stay with the mages! You don't want one of these shemlen coming at you with a knife just for having ears! Let alone speak to Qunari mercenary, with just as wide of a mouth as you, when she could kill you by just moving!"

"Yeah, not really a Qunari. Thanks. Anyways, yeah, leave the area. Don't know what you two are doing but you should leave, the Divine is about to come out," the Vashoth woman said.

"This is the Divine's quarters?" the hunter said.

"Yeah, so move along," she said, waving them off.

"Hey come back here!" another voice shouted out down the hall. Racing around the corner, two bodies came racing around the corner. "Stop that dwarf!" A dwarf with a shaggy beard and hood over his face, race down the hall, rushing towards the crowded group.

"Move along nothing to see here! Just a sodding mad human with a dress on!"

"It's a tunic!" the dwarf passed the retreating elves, who were a bit perplexed on by the arguing duo. The Vashoth tried to stop the dwarf, rushing forward to deter him from her post. But he slid down the floor, under the bronze woman's legs.

"Nice ass!" the dwarf shouted, before barging into the Divine's quarters. However, the tunic, wearing young human, tackled him as he went to open the doors, slamming the doors open. A twisted thing is fate, as the events that occur here will show themselves. The two elves looked on, with the Vashoth woman staring at the events occurring in the chambers.

"What's going on here!?" the vashoth woman shouted.

"We have intruders."

"Maker's Breath," the human said frantically, propping himself on his hands and shoving himself up as fast as he could, the dwarf still laying on the ground. He back away as fast as he could, walking back into the tall vashoth woman. Senia wrapped herself around Arthon as he pulled out his bow and aimed as fast as he could, nudging Senia to let go.

"Slay them all."

* * *

A/N: Welcome everyone. Please leave one soul per read. Thank you, come again. Enjoy. There's no way in hell I'm not finishing this and the other one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **No Destiny:**

* * *

The world seemed dark. He had never set foot in this place before. And he knew he did not want to be here. For in his mind, he was in the Fade.

The Chantry, the sisters and the brothers, would tell him that the Fade would be the place that the spirits of the dead would pass through here, on their journey to meet their Maker. However, they could become trapped in between the world of the living and the world of the spirits and the demonic.

Marcus looked around the nightmarish landscape. It was nothing he could ever experience. He looked around and saw nothing but chaotic landscape. He decided to move along, looking for a way out. It was better than remaining in the same space like a twit.

 _This is…this is impossible. Am I?_ The human thought to himself as he walked along. A chittering sound then echoed throughout the area. The human turned around, looking for the source of the sounds. He looked and looked but all he saw was the green glow of the Fade's skies and the black rock that he stood on. The sounds were getting closer. He started to back up, immediately bursting into a sprint into any direction that he could see. The sounds grew louder.

Much louder. _Maker protect. Send me through your righteous dawn. As a servant of your will, please see me through this. Andraste please. I am here for you, be here for me._

He kept on running, until something caught his eye. In the distance, a golden figure stood on top a monolithic stair case, a dark green portal behind it. He ran faster, his armor clanging against itself, the noise drowned out by the surrounding skittering and the chittering of the creatures that he knew were coming after him. The sounds were only getting louder, so they had to be getting closer. His eyes drifted down, suddenly seeing other people. He couldn't make out what they were, but they were all heading towards the portal.

The tallest one, a qunari from what he saw, had already reached the top and rushed through the tear. It was somewhat calming that others were in the same predicament, as himself, but then he heard a voice.

" _Ah, the father's son. Delicious."_

"Hey! Hey! Guys! A little help! Fucking Balls-busting fleeing fucks! Wait up!" The human yelled out, his emotions ranging from fear to anger, switching rapidly between the two and everything in between. He headed faster towards the stairs. "Hello?! What's going on!?" One of the people turned their heads, and from Marcus could see, was an elf, a she-elf. He was close enough to tell that, reaching the first step and starting to climb. Most of the four that were climbing before had come and gone, she was the last climber. However, he saw her face turn to pure horror, as she looked behind him. He froze, as he noticed that the noise stopped. Turning around, he saw what she saw, and for the moment, he saw fangs, legs, and many eyes. He started bolting up the stairs. _Fuck me. Oh endlessly fuck me._ He shouted at himself as he climbed the black rock. In no time, he reached the halfway, only looking back to see the demonic beings chasing him.

Giant spiders hissed and snickering as they chittered about towards their next tasty morsel. The elf had reached the top by the time he got halfway. She was standing next to the bright golden figure, shouting an incoherent speech, as his thoughts were being drowned out by the spidery demons.

Moments later, time while an illusion in the Fade, he finally reached the top, the elf grabbing his hand and pulling him up. They both stared at each other, and then at the figure. Marcus for some reason could not see the Spiritual figure's face, if it even was meant to have one. They looked down at the demons and ran towards the portal. However, the elf stopped short of the portal, going back towards the figure and reach her hand out, only for the shining spirit being pulled away, unwillingly, far away into the Fade's endless being. She called out towards Marcus, rushing him along, and he felt extremely tired suddenly. Like something was feeding on him, draining him, exhausting his being. The elf pushed him through the rift, both of them falling through it together.

He felt air come back to his lungs. She saw nothing but black earth, smoke, and the smell of seared flesh. It was like he never left where he was. Men were suddenly approach him. He did not see the girl, nor the figure.

Then it was black.

* * *

He woke up in a cell, dark and damp. There were some dimed out torches around the jail block. He rose from his cot, feeling like the earth had just been dumped on him, his legs shaking underneath him as he stood up. He edged his way towards the iron bars, looking outwards. There were guards on the outside, four or five of them standing in a circle, swords drawn towards the center of the sunburst inscribed in the center of the room. He looked closely, and saw that it an elven woman, chained and shackled to the ground, slumped over herself as she slept.

"Hey." The warrior said, trying to get the attention of the guards surrounding her. "Is she alright? What's going on?"

"Shut up."

"Excuse me? Do you know who I am? My father is Bann Trevely- ah!" Marcus suddenly felt his hand burn, a sharpening pain growing from his palm. Streaks of light ethereal green fire burned from his right hand. He gripped his hand with his other by the wrist, still grunting in pain as it suddenly stopped. A moment later, it started again, and the guards turned towards all of the cells, as all the occupants started screaming in pain, except for the elven woman, who was bearing the pain through her sleep. It was amazing that she was able to sleep through this. The human guards all looked around until one spoke up over the cries of the cell's occupants.

"Corporal, send word to the elf! Alert Seeker Pentaghast and Sister Nightingale," the guard then turned around, looking back at the elven girl as she simply stayed there, slumped over, asleep.

 _What's wrong this girl?_ He thought to himself, as he cringed from the pain that the searing energy from his hand. _How can she simply sleep through this shit? And why is my hand feel like it is being burned by a dragon fire. It keeps spreading. It's going through my arm by now._

"How did I end up in this mess…" he whispered to himself, gritting through the pain as it stopped, and then started again. He finally blacked out as the last thing that he saw was another elf in robes walking through the door, along with a hood figure. That was the last thing he saw before darkness took over him again.

Then he started dreaming. And remembering.

* * *

"So."

"So."

"I think this is the moment when you finally face facts, bend over and finally fold, so I can spend your good hard earned coin on another ale. For the entire house!"

The entire tavern shook as the crowd around Marcus's fifth game of Wicked Grace was growing into a fantastic show.

Marcus Kasmir Trevelyan was the son of a noble family. He was merely 26 years old, with high pronounced cheekbones, pale bluish eyes, black hair that was grown out, extending past his brow, making it hard to see his eyes when he looked down. Years ago, he was a Templar initiate, studying the Templar lore and chantry history. He never cared for it much. He was not the pious sort. He was more or so the "live life and be free" sort. He adopted this from his father and from his older sister. But the fact of the matter is. His family has to live up to a name.

To be more specific, he was a Trevelyan. The House of Trevelyan had been known to be expert diplomats in their own right. Their word was as high as a Ferelden Bann, and sometimes at even odds with the Teyrn of Ostwick. The House of Trevelyan was currently headed my Marcus's father, Allard. Bann Allard commanded a large portion of power among the nobles in the Free City of Ostwick, along with the clergy of the Chantry as well. They were also a pious family, similar to those of Vael's in Stark haven. Every generation or so, the youngest of the family would be "donated" to the Chantry to serve, either as part of the Chantry or as a Templar. However, most recently, with the Mage-Templar War, and the Chantry struggling to maintain order, did make some ripples between the House and the family. When the Kirkwall Chantry was destroyed, Allard had immediately used his connections within the Chantry, to pull his son from the order, not risking him being sent off to Kirkwall for an Exalted March.

As for Marcus himself, he did intend to live up to the name of a Templar. But the circumstances, since years ago, the life of a Templar was not worth it to his father's position. The Templars were addicts, and now, they were murderous addicts, in a full out war with the mages, catching normal folk in between. Marcus did not want that life and so decided that beating this surfacer dwarf to death, figuratively of course, through Wicked Grace.

"Well?" Marcus said, his face smug, "the angel is coming sooner or later dwarf, you might as well fold before you get thrown into the dust."

"Look whelp, I don't know how long you've been doing this but, you don't know how to bullshit me." The dwarf drew a card, which miraculously was the Angel of Death. "Fuck…" the scraggly dwarf said, "well show the hand kid. Might as well win." The dwarf laid down his hand, a pair of songs and angels. A middling hand by best. Both players stared at each other. Marcus looked nervous at first but when the dwarf laid down his hand, he kept up the nervousness to at least get some enjoyment out of the situation.

"Sir Dwarf, while it's been a pleasure, I'm afraid…"

"That's right cough up what's due," the dwarf said, snickering.

"Wait. Let me finish. I'm afraid four serpents are the winning hand," Marcus slammed down the cards, the tavern turned into an uproar, the music suddenly increasing in temp and strength as the band played in celebration. The dwarf was renowned Wicked Grace player in Ostwick, but being defeated by the Bann's son no less. The young noble took to the dancing floor of the somewhat clean tavern, taking a red-head woman by the hand, leading her with him. The solemn dwarf continued to look at the cards, replaying the game in his head. When the conclusion came that the noble wasn't cheating, he decided to simply leave.

On his way out, however, an armed guard passed by him, along with none other than the Bann himself.

"Your highness," the dwarf said, before leaving the tavern before he was noticed any further.

"Fehn." The Bann said. The Bann walked pass the bar, eliciting stares from the tavern folk. "Marcus," he said solemnly, trying to get his son's attention. Pass the horde, the band had stopped playing, in the corner of the tavern the young noble had been nipping between the bosoms of a common girl. The elder noble rolled his eyes, and continued to approach his son. The crowd started to part, the noble and his guard rushing through. The common girl saw the guard, and then connected eyes with the elder noble, and launched herself from the younger one's lap, bowing and fleeing before receiving any wrath. But the father was not here to scorn, merely to teach. Marcus looked bewildered, finally noticed that everyone was staring, and the music had stopped.

* * *

"Uh..."

"Let's go."

"But…I won."

"Yes, and now let go see about your prize," the father said, before turning and leaving, sharing only a second of eye contact with his youngest son.

"Alright back to your fun you merry lot." The guard sounded off, marching alongside his lordship. The crowd returned to life, the band kicking back into gear. Marcus stood still for a moment, thinking over the situation for a second, before practically leaping off the chair and pushing around the crowd, quickly sharing a glance with the girl he was, for a moment, trying to lay with, before stumbling outside the door of the tavern, the sunshine hitting him as he pulled the hood of his coat over his head, catching up with his father.

Marcus looked at his father in earnest, awaiting an explanation from his lordship. His father and he had always got along to a point in which they respected each other. It was easier because he was the only one really home nowadays. His brother Reginald was off to some foreign country. He was employed under the Teyrn of Ostwick as an ambassador, mostly within the Free Marches themselves, but was most recently in Nevarra, for reasons mostly unknown to the Trevelyan's themselves. His elder sister, Danielle, was cast off to the circle before Marcus was even born. But with the connections the Trevelyan's had, they were able to keep her in Ostwick, and also in contact. While the Chantry usually would move noble blooded mages to another circle, the Trevelyan's had reason and ability to convince the Chantry to keep her here. Marcus knew Danielle, but he did not know her as a sister. Nonetheless, Marcus might as well have been the only child of the Bann.

"I have news for you Marcus," his father said, as they continued back to the Noble District of the city.

"News that doesn't involve my lavish living does it?" he said with a smirk.

"News. That could shake this world. The Divine has been assembling a Conclave. Do you remember Knight-Commander Diederich?" his father asked.

"A little, he was the Commander in Starkhaven after the fire burned down their circle, he was…upset when you took me back a few years ago. Why? What about him?" Marcus said. Marcus hadn't heard about the commander in some time. He wondered why his father would ask about him at all. He didn't like the commander, and the Templars were rebelling.

"Well, you're going back into initiation…" and that moment, Marcus stopped dead in his tricks, staring at the back of his father's head.

"Why? Why now? It's been four years. And there's a war going on, why is this Templar in contact with you?"

"He is not entirely. There are still some Templars loyal to the Divine, and they need recruits. They promise me that this is not just a simple post. You will be guard for the Divine's Conclave. Nothing more."

"No," the young warrior stated. The Bann turned around, his face filled with anger. Marcus took a step back. While his father loved him, he was known to have a wrathful hand. However, while he flinched, there was no backhand. Instead his father merely stood there. It took a moment before he started to speak again.

"Your sister is going to be at the Conclave, Marcus."

"Danielle? Is she with the mages?"

"Yes," they stood there for several moments and after a few minutes, started to walk away.

"Who else is there?" Marcus inquired.

"A few of your cousins, your aunt. They are assisting the Divine with the delegations."

"So why am I going? I'm not joining the Templars because of your faith," Marcus said. He knew his father was more pious than most would admit to be.

"To find your sister and bring her home, things are changing. And the world is changing. Your sister has been gone for too long. With so many Templars at the Conclave, I do not trust them for her survival." They finally arrived at their estate, a wagon and carriage with the Chantry Sunburst on the side of it. "You leave today."

"Today?!"

"Yes, you are my son. You will do this for me. I have faith in you," his reached for his son's shoulders bringing them a bit closer. "What do you have faith in?" he whispered.

"I have faith that…I will bring her home safely, for you Father."

"Very, well. You still have your uniform and arms"

"Yes…but that uniform was fitted years ago," Marcus shrugged.

"You did not grow in four years," his father laughed heartedly. "Now go, you sail tonight, and you'll make it to the Conclave by the week's end, ahead of the mages and the Templars, try not to embarrass the family like that debacle back there."

"Oh don't worry, I promise only to do much worse," Marcus said with a smile, "I'll get my things."

"They're already loaded."

"Well that makes things slightly easier." Marcus shrugged, walking towards the wagon. "May the Maker watch over you Father." Allard simply nodded as Marcus got in the wagon. As it departed through the streets of Ostwick, with his son inside. He had just sent his son as a gift to the Divine, but for his interests. What he did not know was that Marcus did not have a destiny for him. It wasn't in the Templars, the Chantry, certainly not in the taverns of Ostwick. It was with the Maker.

"May the Maker watch over us all," he whispered, as he left towards the entrance of his estate.

* * *

A/N: Hi all, leave a review if you choose to do so. It helps me make these future chapters hopefully a bit better. See you next time. Enjoy.


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